The Tears of a Clown
by VaticanCameos123
Summary: After the death of his brother, George Weasley had been left as half the person he used to be. He now ran a joke shop where he found next to nothing amusing. Can anything succeed in drawing him out of this depression? Perhaps a little lunacy?
1. Remains of the Day

Chapter I: The Remains of the Day

For those who had undergone the plight of the Battle of Hogwarts, there was no post battle euphoria, the likes of which the rest of the magical community had enjoyed so much. For the people who had not been present in Hogwarts that night, there were celebrations. Very much like He Who Must Not Be Named's disappearance all those years ago, even the usually oblivious muggles could not fail to notice the numerous amounts of odd looking people wearing various coloured long cloaks on their streets, or the flocks of owls that appeared in broad daylight. No, ironically enough, it was those who had won the war that felt the cost of it most acutely. Relief could not be felt, as how could one feel relief, when the very consequences of the fight that were most feared had actually happened? In the immediate period following the death of Voldemort, the overriding emotion had been confusion. Without the enemy, how could the deaths of your loved ones be justified? How could closure be achieved with no one to blame?

Where was the justice in that?

For George Weasley, none of these questions could be answered. And without these answers, there was to be no future. For he had lost what could never be replaced. Far more than any of his other siblings, he grieved for the loss of his brother, his twin, Fred Weasley. The last light of laughter in his eyes had haunted his dreams, and even his waking hours, when there was nothing else to occupy him. When _the event_ had come to pass, and the battle was finally won, he could not help bitterly cursing those who cheered at the sight of You Know Who's body, as he saw no victory in it. George even found it difficult to look the valiant hero Harry Potter in the eye, as he knew Harry felt some portion of the victory. As he had lost so much, no triumph could be felt. He recalled sitting there, the longest night of his life, dumbstruck by what had occurred. He felt Fred's presence like a phantom limb, constantly checking to see if he was there, cracking a joke or mocking Ron. He even caught himself at it now, months afterwards, checking for the brother who had never been out of his sight. He had never been so alone in his entire life. He now felt half an entity. Half a mind.

That was the sort of life that George led after the death of his brother. A half life. At his brother's funeral, he had simply stood there, his face blank and expressionless as the coffins of Fred and so many others, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, and the many other meaningless names were carried and placed in a quiet section of the grounds of the castle. Yet while George had felt this weight upon him, he did not shed tears like the others. His mother had wept for weeks on end, probably for much longer, had she let others see. After all, these were her worst fears come true. But George, as many had expected, did not. He was treated by others like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode in grief at any moment. If George had ever been like the ticking bomb he was treated as, there seemed to be no spark to begin the explosion. There was only emptiness. With Fred's last laugh, it appeared that he had robbed George of the rest of his own laughter.

So this is where George Weasley was left. Trapped in his melancholy, and simultaneously running the joke shop that had been the childhood dream of the Weasley brothers. He was stuck running a joke shop where he found nothing amusing. The irony was painful. The fact that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was thriving as a consequence of the furore of the great excitement that had gripped the wizarding community was of no consolation to him. When he and Fred had originally found themselves as young entrepreneurs, they had wasted no time in spending money on the most ridiculous luxuries they could find; galleons were water to them. Now, George had no desire to do anything except to sit alone in the flat above the shop. The only people he had regular contact with nowadays were Ron, who insisted on helping George run the place, Percy, who, out of the blue, had decided to come in every now and again to help with George's accounts, and the shop assistant, Verity. It was Percy now who sat at the desk laden with sheets upon sheets of parchment bearing numerous facts while George simply leant against the side of the cold bare wall of the flat, concentrating on a spider scuttling across the floor.

"…And on top of that, you have three-hundred-and-seventy-two galleons and five sickles in your tertiary account for this month, which brings you up to the two thousand mark, if we count your private savings…" Percy droned on, his crisp, clipped voice, fresh from the Ministry of Magic itself. George closed his eyes and sighed through his nose.

"So I would say that you are in a perfect position to expand the franchise, George, a little aspiration never hurt anybody. You have the potential to be quite the mogul of the comedic world." He went on to say in that same voice of purpose. Percy, while his strict and pompous ways had not altered in the slightest, had undergone a sort of change in philosophy. Ambition had always been at the core of his belief system, but Percy had changed from being hell bent on achieving his own ends to becoming keener on encouraging others to achieve their own potential. The more cynical part of George believed that this was the manner in which Percy saw fit to pay his debt to the family. And as George was at this moment in time, the most fragile member of the family, he was the prime candidate for Percy's new project.

"Merlin's beard, George! Are you even listening to me?" his voice cut through George's reverie like a dagger. He shook his head a little bit, to stave off the new, cynical George who had become so loud and insistent.

"Be fair," he said drily ", I do have some disadvantage in hanging on your every word." He gestured to his damaged ear. Percy sighed, turning his chair fully around to face George, considering him meaningfully.

"What?" snapped George. Percy turned around and began gathering all the sheets of parchment haphazardly into the smart black briefcase he had brought with him. Most unlike Percy.

"What _are_ you doing, Perce?"

"What does it look like? We're going to the Leaky Cauldron." He said, his eye glinting. This was probably about as rebellious as Percy was going to get.

"Oh." George shrugged. Percy looked crestfallen for one second; he had clearly hoped that this would provoke a change in George's mood. However, this did not dissuade him, he pulled on his cord suit jacket in a hurry and beckoned to George to follow him. George did so, his listless expression drew a marked contrast with the bright and purposeful Percy.

It wasn't a busy day in Diagon Alley, and for that, George was thankful. He didn't venture often outside Weasley's Wizard Wheezes except for the rare moments he needed to restock his food supplies; his mother sent him so many food parcels he began to feel like a refugee. Peace and quiet in Diagon Alley now seemed a rarity and this was a stark contrast to the eerie silence that had invaded the place last year. Diagon Alley had restored itself remarkably. The shops that had previously been boarded up were new again; Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour had been taken over by a relative of his, and Ollivander's Wand shop had been reopened too, though its opening hours were considerable shorter. As they walked, George remained silent bar the odd grunt, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Percy made up the bulk of the conversation, talking about future possible shop locations and deals that could be made. He was forever on about the _potential_ as if making clear to George what he could have if he would act on it. But George remained immune.

The conversation had run out of steam by the time they had reached the Leaky Cauldron. The pub stank of stale smoke as usual, and the lighting was poor. Percy rapped smartly on the bar.

"A serving of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey for my brother here, please Tom!" He said cheerily, slamming some coins down on the bar.

"Cheers, Perce." Muttered George.

"And what will you be 'avin, Mr. Weasley?" said the hunched, bald barman, with his usual strange and disconcertingly friendly smile.

"A glass of mulled wine, please."

"Mulled wine?" George said sardonically. Percy frowned.

"Firewhiskey is a little strong for my stomach." He said curtly. George's mouth lifted in one corner. It would have been something that Fred would have laughed at. They sat in some plush, albeit grubby armchairs, whose original colour had long deteriorated. George drained his firewhiskey, relishing the burning feeling the liquid made down his throat. Meanwhile, Percy sipped his mulled wine placidly.

"Mother and Father are coming tomorrow. Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny will be coming with them, I believe Ginny is also bringing a school friend who has been staying at the Burrow." He announced, eyeing George carefully to see his reaction.

"Why?" George replied, not looking at Percy.

"For Ginny's school things. And to see you, of course." Percy's voice was careful. He had withheld this information carefully. The rest of the Weasley family was a thorny topic for George, the pariah.

"So Hogwarts is definitely open next year?" George edged around the topic. Percy seemed to sense this, as he arched an eyebrow quizzically. But thankfully for George, he took the bait.

"Yes. McGonagall is the headmistress, as expected" Percy said briskly ", I must say, the Department of Magical Buildings have done a marvellous job. The castle almost looks exactly how it used to."

The conversation then onwards trailed on like a particularly dull History of Magic lesson, except with more firewhiskey and mulled wine. Just as Tom the barman began lighting extra lamps, Percy stood up.

"Well, I must be off. I won't be with you tomorrow; I'm needed at the office. I have a meeting with Bertie Higgs early in the morning." Percy stated. George stood up and stretched, bidding his brother goodbye, and made his way out of the pub into the now lamp lit streets of Diagon Alley.

The streets were now fully empty, and the various shopkeepers were beginning to extinguish the lights. George supposed Verity would be doing the same. He would have to speed up to allow her to get home. However, he maintained his slow, plodding pace. He liked Diagon Alley best like this. Previously, he would have enjoyed the darkness as it allowed for secrecy and mischief. Now, he simply enjoyed the peace. George sighed. He really had become middle aged over night.

As George walked, he contemplated how he would get through the awkwardness of seeing his family tomorrow. He knew that seeing his face would hurt his mother in some form; after all, he was pretty much a walking reminder. At least _they_ could be away from the walking reminder of their dead relative. Yet while George felt this terrible bitterness against the rest of his family, he could not help but feel an aching guilt in the pit of his stomach. He had, no matter what mental accusations he threw at his family, thoroughly neglected in contacting them. It was unavoidable. George would have to confront them, and he might as well get it over with.

**A/N: Aaaaaand done. Luna hasn't appeared yet, but I promise she'll appear next chapter. Anyway, I hope you liked it! I'd really love to know what you think, so please review :D **


	2. Better Left Unsaid

Chapter II: Better left Unsaid

George's eyes snapped open to the view of the dirty, off white ceiling of his flat. A small beam of light had managed to snake its way through a gap in the curtains and shone squarely on his face. He squinted, the beam of light was painful to his already fragile head. He hadn't realised how much firewhiskey he had drunk at the pub the night before. His brain allowed him a few moments grace before the realisation of what was to happen that day rolled over him like an onslaught of grey cloud. He groaned and pulled the duvet over his head defiantly. His family would be coming to visit. Most uncomfortable. At this moment in time, George wished nothing more than to melt into his comfortable bed and not have to face the day. But that was no option, there was nothing for it. He'd have to get out of bed. His entire body protested as he slid his legs systematically out from under the covers and shuddered as his feet hit the cold floor. Reluctantly, George then dressed into the grubby khaki jumper and jeans which had remained unwashed for some time, and proceeded to descend the rickety wooden stairs down to the shop.

It was blissfully quiet, and he knew it would be teeming with customers later on. Today was the beginning of the week before the Hogwarts term usually began, and if Percy was right (which he tended to make sure he was), it would begin as normal. It was this week which Diagon Alley shopkeepers dubbed the 'chaos week'. The memory of the first chaos week that he and Fred had encountered had been just that; pure and utter mayhem. It was true that the money they had earned really was a milestone in the success of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, yet in that week, George had argued with Fred more than any other. It was, at least, preferable to the aching monotony he was currently undergoing. Still, while he may not have liked it, the shop was doing well, as always. As George stood there, simply surveying the shop, the door opened. He looked up.

"Hello, Mr Weasley." Chirped Verity, the happy blonde shop assistance, wearing the trademark Weasley's Wizard Wheezes magenta robe.

"'Morning." George muttered, inspecting a hanging birdcage of Pygmy Puffs, all asleep and making tiny, fluttering, snoring sounds. He could have sworn that there was more than this yesterday night, but then again, they were so difficult to count; outwardly, they looked like a writhing mass of varying shades of pink and purple. Looking up, he pulled his wand out of his pocket and flicked it so that the sign on the door read 'OPEN'. The day had begun.

At twelve o' clock, when it was nearing the time for the shop to close for lunch, George was nearing a meltdown. He'd had four customers demanding to see the owner, yelling in his face, refusing to believe him when he'd told them he was the owner. One of these customers had even had the nerve to wonder aloud (extremely aloud) why such a dim witted boy was allowed to run a shop. And what was it over? The fact that there was no Ton-Tongue toffees left in stock. People were insane. To make matters worse, Verity had asked to go home sick at around eleven o' clock, leaving George to take care of the shop on his own. The hectic morning from hell he had suffered had wiped the thought of his parent's visit from his mind entirely. So when his mother's unmistakable outline appeared in the frosted glass _just_ when things were beginning to get slightly empty, George almost felt his stomach drop further than was possible. Her face wore an expression of tearful happiness when the door swung open to reveal it. Before he could come to terms with anything at all, she ran forwards and embraced him, knocking the breath right out of him.

"Oh George!" She cried, unable to contain the tears that flowed freely out of her eyes. After a moment's hesitancy, George lifted his arms to hug her back. No matter what he had told himself, he really had missed his mother. He felt comforted by this, breathing in the familiar scent of home; a mix between flowers and baking.

"Hello, Mum." He said calmly, the first genuine smile he had had in days crossed his face. He looked up just in time to see his father come forward to embrace him. He noticed a difference in both his mother and father; they looked haggard and tired, probably a mirror of how he looked. This reassured him. Ginny, however, who had just entered the shop, looked radiant and healthy. A sure consequence of her new found happiness with Harry. Her expression may have been slightly despondent (How could it not be, seeing George for the first time in months and being reminded of her dead brother?) but she was as pretty as ever. She had the look of someone who was whole. Despite the rush of resentment George felt towards her, he was able to smile at her. Ginny shook her head, laughing, and ran towards him, again knocking the wind out of him with the sheer strength of her hug.

"Hi, Ginny!" He said, breathlessly. Ginny laughed again, and George almost cringed at the noise. Just as the excitement of meeting began to wear out, George spied a vaguely familiar face. The girl had very long dirty blonde hair, wore a startlingly orange jumper and a vacant expression, standing awkwardly, detached from the family reunion. Luna Lovegood must have been the school friend of Ginny's that Percy had referred to the day before that was staying at the Burrow.

"So..erm.." George muttered, drawing his eyes away from Luna "Where's Ron? And the rest?" George was disappointed; he could have really used Ron in the shop after lunch.

"Ron and Harry couldn't get off work. Hermione's still in Australia." Ginny rolled her eyes. She sounded exasperated. This had been a common occurrence of late, as Ron and Harry were heavily involved in the Auror department, and Hermione had travelled abroad to bring back her muggle parents.

"They are off saving the world while you're buying school books? Odd." George said in mock speculation. His mother was still wiping her eyes with her sleeve. She sniffed loudly.

"George, we've booked a table at the Leaky Cauldron for lunch. Will you come?" She asked, her eyes shining with tears. George's stomach squirmed with the battling emotions of guilt and reluctance to prolong the occasion. It had been somewhat comforting seeing his mother again, certainly. But seeing their faces had brought the fresh pain of his own situation to the surface of his mind, when previously it had been a dull, persistent ache. George felt like he should retreat into the flat above the shop forever, lest he risk becoming a burden, reminding them constantly what had happened by his mere presence. The thought of sitting there with them all was, to be quite frank, horrific. Nevertheless, as he was under the anxious and pleading gazes of his mother, father, and Ginny (Luna had resorted to browsing the merchandise), refusal was not an option.

"Ok. Sure." He said without looking at them "The lunch break starts in fifteen minutes, I'll meet you there, if you want?"

"No, no, George. We can wait fifteen minutes at the least!" His father beamed at him. As quickly as that, the tense atmosphere was dissolved. For now, at least.

George edged around the shop, trying to find a customer with whom he could pretend he was busily occupied. Procrastinating was usually easy in this shop, it just had to be now that every customer seemed to be accounted for. George decided that he'd pretend to rearrange stock. All the while, George knew that despite his family seemingly being enthralled by the contents of the shop, they were stealing glances at him. Making sure he wasn't going to have a nervous breakdown right there and then, no doubt. He snorted in contempt.

"Pardon?" said a high, sing-song female voice. He jumped, dangerously coming close to knocking some fireworks off the shelf, and looked down to his left. Unnoticed, Luna Lovegood had been browsing the stock right next to him. She gazed up at him, for a little longer than was comfortable.

"Oh! N-nothing!" He stuttered, abashed by her sudden presence. She frowned, and turned back to the boxes of Portable Swamps "Can I help you?"

"No. I was just passing the time…" She trailed off, fully absorbed in the small print on the back of the box. George made to move away, but Luna's voice spoke up again "You are very clever to make these things."

It didn't sound like a compliment; it was more like a stated fact.

"Thank you." Said George bluntly, not entirely sure of what to say. He wished he could skulk away, but Luna seemed insistent on continuing.

"You have to be clever to pull of jokes like you did in Hogwarts, don't you? Both of you were just outstanding at it." She said simply, looking George fully in the face. He looked back at her, bewildered, the dying sounds of the customers suddenly became mute to him. He felt as if Luna had pulled all of the memories he had made so many efforts to suppress out of his mind and shown them right to him, there and then, like some strange Pensive. He muttered some intelligible excuse, turned on the spot and made straight for the back room.

"George!" called his mother, anxiously reaching an arm out to him as he walked passed her. He batted her arm away.

"Just a minute!" He said, and put his hand to hide his expression. When he reached the back room, he put both of his hands on a rough wooden workbench and stared at it, his breath coming out in rasps. He didn't know why Luna's remark had hit him so painfully. She hadn't even mentioned Fred's name. Perhaps it was because she hadn't said the word 'both' with enough reverence. Or was it that George had not heard any casual mention of his brother in such a long time? Or was it even that Luna had reminded George that he had once been part of a team, and was now alone? His breath was slowing now; the peace and quiet of the workshop soothed him. This back room hadn't been in use for some time, as George had felt no necessity to invent new products. The shop was doing well, and besides, he felt no motivation to do so anyway. Some 'clever' prankster _he_ was. George had barely touched the place in months, and it still had some of Fred's old belongings in it- his black Dragon-skin coat (or was it George's?) was draped over a box containing rejected Skiving Snackboxes. George shook his head a little, as if to try and regain his senses. It was no use. Standing here in what was pretty much a museum wouldn't do anything to help his situation. Rubbing his eyes furiously, George built up the resolve to leave the room. For good measure, he planted a feigned smile on his face. Seeing that the shop was now empty, but for four remaining, looking nervous, he approached them.

"Right, we can go now. Sorry about the wait." He said brightly, and he flicked his wand to turn the sign on the door to 'CLOSED'. They all headed out of the shop, eager for the food which awaited them at the Leaky Cauldron. George glanced at Luna out of the corner of his eye. Luna's plain speaking, with no attempt at discretion, had seriously staggered him like a punch to the stomach. He doubted whether the effect could be recreated by a dozen whispered or disguised mentions of Fred.

George sat through the meal at the Leaky Cauldron in silence, bar the occasional grunt of acknowledgement. However, he practically inhaled his steak and kidney pie; he hadn't realised how little he had eaten recently. This attracted a few witty comments from Ginny, which George ignored. Really, seeing his family again wasn't as bad as he had anticipated. The others made light conversation, talking about what Hogwarts would be like next year, Ginny's career options, and what they still had left to buy that day. The only person who remained as silent as George was Luna, and George had a suspicion that her large, owl-like eyes were fixed on him, though he did not glance from his meal to check.

**A/N: So there we go, Luna's introduced. I hope I've sort of done her justice, perhaps she isn't weird enough, but I will never rival the way Rowling writes her I hope you liked it regardless, please review!**


	3. Business Prospects

Chapter III: Business Prospects

Many miles away up north from Diagon Alley, Percy and George Weasley stood outside the boarded up Zonko's Joke shop, and they were both crouched over due to the wind. They were accompanied by a squat man, wearing a fedora hat adorned with a red feather and a shirt, which only barely covered his swollen stomach.

"Well," said the man, presumably Mr. Zonko himself, in a thick Scottish accent, "it's great t'see the place gone at last; I'm just too old fer this."

"I must say sir, you have really left behind a fine establishment!" Percy exclaimed, in his usual 'sucking-up-to-anyone-of-authority-or-accomplishment' voice. George raised an eyebrow, surprised. This little squat man, with his garishly orange coloured suit, and a faint air of absurdity, intensified by his slightly over protuberant left eye, would never have seemed the usual sort to have gained Percy's respect. Perhaps Percy, after seeing George's success in the business, had grown to actually admire pranksters.

"Mebbe yee'll think otherwise when y'see the state o'the bogs!" He laughed somewhat maniacally. Percy wrinkled his noise in distaste and took a precarious step back from the man. Apparently some habits die hard. George decided to step in, clearing his throat nervously.

"The keys then, if you wouldn't mind?" He asked.

"No need t'be so hasty…" he grumbled, but nevertheless complied and fished around for the keys in his pockets.

Five short minutes later, and Percy and George found themselves in the building which bore the unmistakable signs of neglect. Percy clapped him on the back jovially.

"This place only needs a quick clean, and then it'll be marvellous, don't you think?" He said, casting a brief anxious look in George's direction. George delayed answering, and walked around the place. He trailed his finger along one of the shelves, inspecting the considerable amount of dust on it. Zonko's was familiar to him, as he had spent many hours in this shop in Hogwarts, yet he managed to suppress these memories for now. He was here for business, not amusement.

"Yeah. It's great. Thanks for the help, Perce, I appreciate it." George really managed to smile genuinely this time. Now that he thought about it, he was looking forward to getting out of that dingy flat in Diagon Alley. Perhaps it would do him some good.

And surprisingly, 'good' was exactly what it did for George. After some initial complications, involving appointing a branch manager for Weasley's Wizard's Wheezes in Diagon Alley (he had chosen a respectable looking elderly man who appeared far too endearing to do any harm whatsoever, after rejecting a great number of weird and wonderful applicants). He had finally gotten around to cleaning up and stocking the place. George had enjoyed this work, oddly enough. He was completely absorbed in making the place perfect, allowing no room for wallowing in misery. He hadn't felt so obsessed with Weasley's Wizard's Wheezes since the very beginning, when he had committed all of his time into making Canary Creams and Skiving Snackboxes, and had happily neglected his O. for the cause. Now, George meticulously organised the stock in specific sections, replaced the windows, and actually painted over the 'Zonko's' logo without the use of any magic, for the sheer fun of it. He was turning into his father already. He paid little attention to the looks of his fellow shopkeepers; Madame Rosmerta stood a full five minutes outside the shop, gazing unabashed at George's efforts. Despite Percy's insistence that it would only take a 'quick clean' for the place to be up to standard, it had taken a two weeks for George, not including the three day siege upon the toilets he had undergone, in which he had found a few dead squirrels and, even stranger, the remnants of what looked like a Bowtruckle.

The place did steady business, nothing of the like that Diagon Alley had seen. A crowded shop was the norm in Diagon Alley, whereas customers were sparse (and strange) in Hogsmeade. He'd sought out his old school friend, Lee Jordan to ask whether he wanted to help out, who had accepted the invitation all too readily. The time he spent in the Three Broomsticks making small conversation with Lee, and the regular walks he took around the general area of the village made up his free time. However, what tarnished this peaceful way of living was the prospect of the Hogwarts visit. He was excited to see the fruits of his labour be well received, though it was the noise and chaos of the whole lot of them, and the thought of this he found frankly terrifying. What was also terrifying, was the speed that time flew by before the date of the release of the hoards of student upon, as the weeks slipped by with incredible ease.

When George woke up on Halloween morning in his newly decorated flat, he couldn't help but wonder why he was even more stressed than he had been the week before the Hogwarts students had gone back to school. Perhaps it was because this time, he felt that he had something to prove to them, by opening this new branch. Yes, that would be it. He was anxious over the reception the place would receive. Nevertheless, as he donned a bottle green pinstriped suit, he couldn't help but think that he had not felt this excited in a long time. He hammered down the winding staircase after stuffing two slices of toast into his mouth to greet Lee, who had just arrived.

"George, mate, you've got butter all over your face." Lee laughed. With dreadlocks which now reached the small of his back and an oddly summery dress sense, Lee could not have looked more out of place in this dreary, grey village. But he brought what George could not bring to the place; the lively and fun atmosphere which Weasley's Wizard's Wheezes had been missing. George rolled his eyed and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

"Feels weird to be at the other end of the Hogwarts visits to Hogsmeade, doesn't it?" Lee said, hanging up his coat on the coat hanger by the counter. George hummed in response, organising some untidy boxes.

"Isn't your sister still in Hogwarts? Final year?" Lee pressed on. He had been like this a lot recently, forcing George into conversation; it was almost like he was trying to coerce the old George back into existence. George simply hummed again, his back to Lee.

"Looking forward to seeing her?" He continued. George realised that he'd need words for this response.

"I've seen her recently." He replied shortly. Lee snorted.

"Don't get too excited, Georgie!" Lee scoffed. George ignored him, his ears turning the telltale Weasley crimson.

Far sooner than George could have hoped, the first uniform-wearing customers arrived, who looked fairly young. They wore Slytherin robes. George bit back an immediate prejudice against them, reminding himself that supposedly none of these stereotypes mattered anymore. George leant on the counter, looking at them from the corner of his eye, while Lee walked towards them like a good employee to assist them. The next customers entered soon afterwards- two girls with high pitched giggles from Ravenclaw, who, as it seemed, only wanted to come in to gawk at Lee. Eventually, at around 10 o' clock, Ginny came in, accompanied by a girl with short brown hair, who stood at the door hesitantly. She spotted George, hovering by the counter, and her face lit up.

"Wow, George, this place is great!" She crossed the shop in a few short strides and hugged him.

"Thanks." He said sheepishly. Lee smiled smugly from behind Ginny. She withdrew, beaming. This was a significant alteration from the coolness he had received in their last meeting.

"Mum wrote and told me about this place. I didn't expect it to be this good!" She exclaimed, gesturing around the shop. George frowned.

"Glad to see you had such high expectations of me, Ginny." He said coolly, suddenly reverting back to that wintry shell, with its biting cynicism. Ginny's face fell.

"I didn't mean it like that. You know I didn't." Ginny seemed shocked. The situation had gone from cordial to grim so fast it had whitened Ginny's face.

"Oh come on!" George snorted derisively. "You've been expecting me to fail ever since I've been on my own."

Even Lee looked shocked now, and the girl by the door looked hurt for her friend. Ginny's eyes filled with tears, though her face took on a fierce expression.

"How could any of us expect anything at all of you? Mum had to force herself upon you for you actually to acknowledge us!" Her voice raised dangerously, and she whipped her fiery hair back out of her face in anger.

"Maybe you all should take a hint and back off then!" George retorted. The instant he had said it, he regretted it.

"Right," She said coldly, and her expression took on a mask-like quality "Fine then. I'll go, if I'm such a burden to you."

And without another word, Ginny turned on the spot, and half ran half walked out of the shop. The girl cast George a reproachful look, before following her friend.

In the silence following the slam of the door, George felt Lee's judging gaze on him. He turned his back on him, breathing heavily.

"That wasn't good, mate." George heard Lee say quietly behind him. George knew he had been out of order, but he had vindictively relished the look of hurt on Ginny's face. Now, all he felt was a squirming guilt in the pit of his stomach.

"I'm going out," said George in a hollow voice "I'll be a while."

He pulled on a coat, and left the shop. There was no sign of Ginny amongst the many black robed students. Not that he was in much of a mood to say sorry. He needed to be alone. Without knowing exactly where he was walking, George walked mercilessly through the excitable, jabbering teenagers, pushing some of them aside. Some made scathing remarks and shouted out at him, but he hardly heard them. He walked on and on, and the crowds of students thinned out and the buildings became smaller and grubbier. It was only when some trees began to appear when George realised exactly where he was heading towards- the Shrieking Shack. He clambered over the stile at the end of the street which had gradually become narrower as he approached it. Walking into the clearing which gave the view of the decrepit little shed in the distance, George thought of how strange it was how riled up some people got about whatever haunted it, when it really was just Remus. He had just neared the fence, when he heard a high melodic voice speak up from nearby.

"You don't seem the sort to come down here."

George jumped. He looked to his left, to see none other than Luna Lovegood perching on a tree stump, with a well worn copy of _The Quibbler _flattened out on her lap and wearing an absurd yellow bobble hat.

"Feels like déjà vu." George muttered. Luna cocked her hair to one side slightly.

"Is there something wrong?" She asked. George felt the same discomfort under her wide, watchful eyes that he had felt the last time they met.

"No," he said quickly, his eyes darting away "How come you are sitting here on your own?"

"Not many people come down here anymore. It's nice." She said simply. George nodded.

"Makes sense." He said in acknowledgment, and looked again at the house. Luna swung her legs off the tree stump, rolled up her magazine, and walked over to lean on the fence next to George.

"Weird how people are scared of this place, when it was just Remus Lupin the whole time." thought George aloud.

"I thought it was the colony of Cornish pixies that live up here." Luna said matter-of-factly.

"Maybe you're right." George murmured, smirking. A silence took over, which was interrupted by the intermittent sounds of the wind rustling the trees.

"People are often afraid of things they don't understand." Luna said suddenly. George looked at her from the corner of his eye, mulling her over. Her words struck him as plain and direct, and not many people had the knack of getting away with such a manner. Somehow, though, she did.

"What is wrong, anyway?" She asked, conversationally, and after a second's thought, added "Aside from the obvious, anyway."

"The obvious?" George said, incredulous. Luna actually rolled her eyes.

"You know what I'm talking about. What's wrong?"

George, taken aback by Luna's second reference to his _situation_, was speechless. But he could not run away a second time. Instead, he tried being frank with Luna.

"Well. I just shouted at my sister for no reason whatsoever." He blurted out.

"I don't think that's very fair." She said, quite loudly.

"Wow, you're a bright one." Muttered George under his breath. Luna did seem to have heard.

"She worried about you a lot."

George groaned. The squirming feeling of guilt in his stomach was now almost painful. Now that he thought about it, Ginny had been right. He had given little chance for his family to believe in him in the first place. Besides, what he'd said was totally out of the blue; a misdirected product of pent up rage.

"You should write her a letter or something. That would be nice." Luna's voice reverted back to her usual bright, absent-minded tone.

"Yeah. That's a good idea," mused George "Thanks a lot, Luna." George smiled at her.

"It's okay," Luna said, while rummaging in the duffel bag she had brought along with her. George's eyes widened with realisation. It must be around 12 o' clock now. He had left Lee on his own, without telling him when he'd be back. Another thing to be guilty about.

"I've got to go," He stammered. Before Luna could get a word out, George bolted up the beaten track, leaving her as she was before; solitary and laughable.

**A/N: I was a little bit worried about this chapter, because it seemed a lot to cram in such a short time. I thought it'd get a bit tedious if I described the whole time in between the beginning of school term and the Hogsmeade visit. But anyway, that's up to you guys. Review pleeeeeeeeeease, I beg of you! (But not that pathetically…Sort of)**


	4. An Impartial Adviser

Chapter IV: An Impartial Adviser.

George, having spent many days with the letter circling his mind, and many hours staring at a piece of parchment with 'To Ginny' at the top of the page, was well and truly stumped. He had not discussed the matter with Lee, who had actually been avoiding him since his outburst a few days ago for some reason unknown to George, nor had he mentioned it when Percy had visited the day after the incident. As George had received no howler from his mother, he felt reassured that Ginny had not told _her_ at least what he had said.

Well, perhaps she had. Their mother did not seem in much of a condition to make howlers at this point in time.

The problem was, not that George couldn't find the words; it was that he was not even fully sorry yet. He _wanted_ to feel sorry. Deep down, he was protective over Ginny to the point of being overbearing, and had always been that way. To resent her this much was painful.

George, just this once, needed advice and support. It was hard to even admit that to himself. But who? Who could support him without any judgement? George dwelled upon this as he served an extremely tall wizard, and as he left the shop, George suspected that he'd given him too much change.

As he was distracted by this and not wallowing upon the issue in hand, a sudden idea struck him like a bolt of lightening. The person who had been the most frank and honest with him would surely be the one who George should consult on such a matter of how best to…apologise to his sister. Someone who did not know him well enough to judge him. Luna Lovegood, the person who had told him that he should apologise in the first place. George almost cracked a smile to himself at the thought of her strange boldness.

Hastily, George rummaged in the drawers of the counter for a sheet of spare parchment. Finding one grubby and crumpled up, and snatching up the quill on the counter, he set to work. Or tried to. This began to seem like George would need an advisor to advise him on how to ask another person to advise him. George did not really know Luna, and this letter seemed far too awkward to be allowed. Then again, Luna seemed like she knew a thing or two about being awkward, judging by their past conversations, infrequent though they'd been. With a few more moments rolling the quill between his fingers thoughtfully, George began to write.

* * *

"Perce?" said George from behind a long sheet of order forms which was so long that is rolled out of his lap and hit the wall opposite.

"Mmhm?" replied Percy unconcernedly, at the desk piled with long lists of calculations.

"How often do you go to the Burrow?"

Percy sat up a little straighter (if possible) and frowned. To give himself waiting time, it seemed, he removed his horned rimmed glasses and polished them on a glasses wipe he retrieved from his pocket. George glanced sideways at him from the order forms.

"I go when I can." Percy said in a tone which attempted to be casual, yet his crimson ears betrayed his strain in answering the question.

"Which is…?" edged George.

"I visit mother and father every couple of days for dinner, approximately." Percy finally said, with a short, sheepish smile. George felt the ever so familiar feeling of guilt writhe in his stomach again. If _Percy_ visited the Burrow that often, how terrible did that make George appear in the eyes of their parents?

"Maybe I should visit at some point." He admitted.

"Perhaps," Percy sighed "But I have to go there, don't I? After how I have acted over the last couple of years."

George contemplated this. Percy seemed as if he felt he had a debt to pay for how he had completely neglected his family. George remembered how he and his brothers had badmouthed Percy. Would George have a similar debt to pay one day?

"Are you going this evening?" George asked hesitantly.

"No."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"I'm going." George announced, and shook the parchment in his hands defiantly, as if he were challenging Percy to challenge it. At least now, in the tense wait for Luna's letter, George did not have to feel useless. Percy did not reply, but if George were to have watched the side of Percy's face that was visible to him, he would have seen the side of Percy's mouth lift.

* * *

After the sign on the door of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had changed to 'CLOSED' at the end of what felt like an extremely long day, and Lee had closed the door behind him with a curt 'See you, mate', George braced himself for the visit to the Burrow. He changed from his stern work suit into a crisp white shirt and jeans, picked up the box of chocolate cauldrons he had bought, and glanced out of the window above the desk as a force of habit for any sign of the barn owl from Hogsmeade Owlery. Luna had to have received the letter by now. Perhaps she had simply ignored it. It was, after all, a fairly odd request for advice from somebody she barely knew.

Pushing this unwelcome thought into the back of his mind, George breathed in slowly, and without further ado, apparated out of that dusty little room and into the unkempt front garden of the Burrow.

It was exactly as he had remembered it, of course, as this was the one place where matters remained constant. Except for that one thing of course. The thing which could never return.

Chickens scattered fearfully as George strode towards the door, taking in the sense of the place. How could he ever have left? Before he'd even stretched his arm out to answer the door, it was thrown open by his eldest brother, Bill Weasley.

"Oh, it's you!" He said, taken aback. George frowned. Bill didn't even smile, instead considering George's face with an almost pained expression, stretching his all too noticeable white scar with the scrunching of his nose. George bit back an angry retort which danced tantalizingly on his tongue.

"Yes." He settled for saying. He hovered on the doorstep for a few moments awkwardly. Bill contrasted heavily with George's glum and dejected appearance. Bill bore the signs of having someone who cared for him; his face was flushed, his clothes obviously pristine, and his long hair had been tired back neatly.

"Well then," Bill said, he was obviously short for words "You might as well come in."

Bill stepped to the side and allowed George to pass.

"S'been a while, Georgie." Muttered Bill. He patted George on the back. George took this as a sign of acceptance, nodded at him, and walked into the achingly familiar kitchen, accompanied by the delicious smells of his mother's cooking. George had totally forgotten how much of a good cook his mother was. Seeing her with her back to him, busy over numerous brass pots and pans made it feel like cotton wool had filled his throat. He could not think of a single word to say.

"Who was it, Bill?" She called out, just as Bill came to stand next to George.

"It's George, Mum." He said in a flat voice. George tried desperately to get his throat unstuck. His mother turned around with an incredulous expression on her lined and worn face. George coughed, and finally managed to splutter out a few words.

"D-d-didn't Percy tell you I was coming?"

Molly Weasley, just as she had done in Diagon Alley, circled around the creaky wooden table in the middle of the kitchen, and gave George a bone-breaking hug, stroking his hair in the process affectionately.

"No, he didn't. Why, did you tell him?" She asked unconcernedly, as she looked George critically up and down.

"Yeah, I did actually." George muttered quietly.

"You're very thin, George." She said, and she pursed her lips in obvious anxiety. She left it at that, just as some putrid smelling black smoke came pouring out of one of the pots. She gasped and turned back to one of the pots.

"Go and see the rest in the sitting room, George, they'll all want to see you!" She called, gesturing to the old wooden door.

"C'mon." grunted Bill. He opened the door, and George followed him inside. On the old, sagging armchair, sat his father, bearing that stressed look which characterised a rough day at the office. Next to him, on a stiff wooden chair, sat Percy. Percy was consulting his father on a matter he had just observed in the _Daily Prophet_. On the sofa, sat the fantastic golden trio themselves, Ron, Hermione, and Harry. Harry appeared to be attempting to distance himself from the other two, as he had the crumpled copy of the _Prophet_ in his hands, shielding his face from the two. They all looked up as Bill and George entered.

"George!" cried his father, and a smile lit his face. He jumped up from his well worn armchair and walked over to shake his hand and pat him on the shoulder. While George smiled, he could not help but shudder in guilt, remembering Ginny's words from not so long ago. However, no matter what she had said, it was only Bill who's greeting had been frosty in the slightest. Percy beamed at George in surprise; he had clearly not expected him to show up.

Ron boomed a jovial 'Hi!' at him, and Harry nodded at him, smiling. Harry had evidently not received any letter of complaint from Ginny. Yet Hermione, tanned brown from her time in Australia, did not seem as happy. She, like George's mother, bore a pained expression.

"Percy's been telling me about how well you've been doing!" his father carried on saying, escorting George over to another stiff backed chair that had appeared at the other side of the armchair. Behind George, Percy smiled in a self-satisfied way at the enthusiastic manner in which his brother and father talked.

"So, is business booming in Hogsmeade?" He pressed on.

"Slow, but good enough. More peaceful." George asserted. George found it easy to slip into this conversation. As the rest of the occupants of the room resumed their previous exploits and Bill had gone upstairs, presumably to speak to Fleur, George and his father moulded into an easy conversation, of the sort which George had not experienced very often in the last few months. Nevertheless, the awkward undertone of the entire situation which had begun with Bill reminded George all too strongly of why he had asked Luna for help, and not anybody else. He wasn't sure why, but more than anything, he longed for her complete and perhaps excessive honesty right at that moment.

Roughly half an hour later, George heard two pairs of footsteps coming down the stairs; one slow and sluggish, the other light and quick. Surprisingly, the slow footsteps trailing behind was actually Fleur, whereas the quicker belonged to Bill.

"Oh, 'ello George. Bill told me you were 'ere." Yawned Fleur, rubbing her eyes.

"Yeah. Hi." George said, embarrassed.

He noticed that under Fleur's light blue jumper was a barely discernible curve, only evident due to Fleur's already thin frame. George bit his lip again, preventing himself from saying anything which could lead to deep humiliation. There was a time when he would have made a loud and humorous remark at this.

Conveniently, this was the moment that his mother chose to yell 'Ready!' from the kitchen. They all headed eagerly into the suddenly very cramped kitchen, and crowded around the scrubbed wooden table, which was so full of crockery it was miraculous that it hadn't required magic to keep it standing.

"Molly, 'a am so sorry I couldn't 'elp you with dinner, it looks lovely." Said Fleur sadly. And indeed it did; a steaming vat of shephard's pie stood proudly on the table, as if waiting for compliment. Everyone else mumbled in agreement.

"Not at all, not at all, you need your rest!" said the cook herself, serving out incomprehensible sized portions, particularly making sure to add around a quarter extra onto George's and Fleur's plates.

Again, like the conversation between himself and his father, George slipped into an easy routine. He kept his silence listening to the words of others; Hermione was telling George's highly interested father about her trip to Australia, how she had found her parents safe, and easily brought back their memories, while Percy conversing rapidly with Harry about recent events in the Auror office. On the other hand, Bill always kept one, slightly grumpy eye on George. At this, George felt his mind wander back to the letter he had sent to Luna, which would be the first step he had to take in re-building his relationship with his family.

**A/N: Okay, I'm sorry. I know not much happened in this chapter, but I had to have this in order to fill some of the timeline. But there will be more George/Luna coming up soon. It has been a while, again, sorry! I've been so busy with my A2 exams coming up. A bit stressed, as you can imagine. Anyway, I hope you still liked it. Review pleeeeease! **


	5. Friendly Discussions

Chapter V: Friendly Discussions

The next morning, George was lay comfortably, mulling over the previous evening's events. He had slept easily, with no disturbing dreams or images of his dead brother, and he felt that at last his mind was becoming slightly more peaceful.

Not quite.

What could not be erased was that nagging feeling of disorder. Things were still not quite right. What the previous evening had shown him was that there was still a long way to go before he could mould easily into family life. Bill's suspicious stares had reminded George enough of that.

A tapping at the window opposite George's bed was enough of a cue to spring him into action. Throwing open the cream curtains of the sort that could never be faded by the sun, and undoing the clasp on the window, George allowed an excited looking barn own to come flying inside the little room.

"Took you long enough." George muttered under his breath, as he untied the tightly furled scroll of parchment from the weary owl's leg. It waited there patiently on the windowsill, looking up at him with doleful, large eyes, reminding him oddly of Luna. Slightly disturbed at this comparison, George held the letter in front of him, and began to read.

_To George,_

_I was surprised at receiving your letter, but it still made me happy. I don't get many letters. Still, I would have thought that you, of all people, would know how to write words good enough for your own sister by yourself. I suppose some people just are not very good at apologies. But perhaps it's not even sincere, so that would make it harder, wouldn't it?_

_Ginny is a very good friend of mine, so of course I will help you to say sorry. But I think that a letter isn't a very good way to do this, on reflection. I think that it is so much easier to make things up in letters, don't you?_

_Anyway, would you like to meet up with Ginny and I in the next Hogsmeade trip if the shop isn't making you too busy? I could bring some tea. Is lunchtime by the Shrieking Shack okay again? The trip is on the second weekend in December._

_Yours,_

_Luna_

George couldn't help but blink, bewildered at the letter. Luna seemed to offer an amazingly simple solution. Perhaps with her straightforward attitude, no problem was complex. Yet, maybe it was George himself that made the problem unnecessarily complex. George, like his sister Ginny, bore the typical Gryffindor stubbornness. He hadn't considered that simply seeing Ginny would solve the problem. George sighed, and glanced at the owl, still staring at him expectantly. The look was really uncannily like Luna's.

"Well, if you say so…" He said softly, almost to the owl, almost to himself. George turned away from the creature.

"Parchment…parchment…" He muttered, fully to himself this time. He searched around the room, and threw open some of the draws in the desk by the window, only finding used pieces of parchment. The place was incredibly untidy, considering the short time George had inhabited it. Whether it had been eccentric messiness or the more recent lethargic style of slovenliness, George had never been one for organisation.

"Wait there!" He said to the owl, and he headed downstairs in his search for parchment. The owl blinked, oblivious to George's words, and let out a low hoot. Meeting George downstairs was Lee, who had just arrived.

"Morning, George." said Lee, nodding at him.

"Morning." George murmured, searching in the drawers of the counter. Lee stood there for one moment, somewhat hesitant.

"George, can I talk to you for a sec?" He asked tentatively. George glanced up at him; Lee looked visibly troubled.

"Can you give me a minute, Lee? Need to send a letter." George replied, finally finding a crumpled, albeit blissfully blank sheet of parchment. Without further ado, George ran back up the stairs, leaving a very affronted Lee behind him.

George, having rushed upstairs, now leant on his desk, a quill poised in his hand. He simply wrote:

_To Luna,_

_Yes, I'll be there. Thanks._

_From George._

Folding the piece of parchment hastily, he strode over to the owl, which was clattering around on the windowsill, considering taking off. George then fastened the note to the owl's leg, and let it fly out of the window. He watched the figure of the owl become fainter and fainter in the distance before finally, it disappeared. He only just realised that his heart had been beating at what seemed like thrice its usual pace. But George would have to calm himself down; he would not see Luna, or Ginny for that matter, for another month. George had not felt this agitated for a long time. George found it disconcerting that he'd let himself have that reaction. One small trip out of his usual apathetic state felt like a huge risk.

Business had been slow that day so far. However, even with this huge residue of spare time, George had failed to notice Lee's obvious agitation. Lee had approached George and backed away on so many occasions, he was beginning to look like he was playing some sort of strange, childish game with George.

Finally, at lunch, Lee got the chance to spill the proverbial 'beans' to George in the Three Broomsticks. Not before he'd stuffed a masterpiece of a bacon sandwich into his mouth in one go.

"Right, George. I need to talk to you." said Lee, gasping for breath and massaging his throat. George raised his eyebrows. He wanted to laugh at Lee's discomfort, but he couldn't quite manage it; it didn't seem proper, for some reason.

"We're talking right now, aren't we?" George said, in a calmly amused voice. Lee rolled his eyes.

"Merlin," he said under his breath, exasperated "I feel really terrible about saying this, George, I really do. I mean, you're my best mate, you know that."

George crossed his arms defensively. He suddenly had an instinct that he wouldn't like what Lee was about to tell him.

"Get on with it, then." said George, in a forced, steady voice. Lee swallowed. Interrupting their conversation and adding to Lee's embarrassment, Madame Rosmerta came behind them and ruffled Lee's dreadlocks, wearing an impossibly low-cut dress, leaving little to the imagination.

"You okay, lovelies?" She crowed at the two of them, her scarlet lips revealing yellowish teeth. George had never understood how even some students had found her attractive. He found the effect repulsive. Lee, however, did not seem to be able to resist taking a glance at her chest. Not that he could avoid it, mind.

"We're fine. Thank you for the sandwiches." George said through gritted teeth, held in suspense by Lee's last sentence. Lee could do little more than make faint gurgling sounds. Rosmerta, deterred by George's frostiness, let out a tinkling laugh, ruffled Lee's hair again, and returned to dusting the surfaces of tables with her wand.

"What was it you wanted, Lee?" pressed George. Lee turned back to the table reluctantly.

"Don't take this the wrong way, George."

"Get on with it!" George hissed.

"I don't want to work with you anymore." Lee spluttered. There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Lee drummed his fingers on the counter of the roughly hewn table.

George gazed at the table, dumbstruck. All the progress that he'd felt he had made now seemed meaningless. Back to square one.

"Why?" asked George in a surprisingly level voice. It was miraculous, considering the fact that George was seething. His brain suddenly felt like it had become an angrily bubbling cauldron of boiling hot potion. The duped Lee looked relieved. He relaxed in his chair, and glanced out of the window beside their table.

"I thought this was going to be fun when you asked me to help, George, I really did. Like old times, you know?" Lee paused, as if searching for words. George's face turned stony. He stayed silent.

"But I'm not really feeling it anymore. It's not the best atmosphere to work in, really." Lee admitted, looking at George guiltily. George now wasn't looking at Lee. He stared out of the window, like Lee before, and his mouth was in a line so thin, that Professor McGonagall herself would have applauded it. At this moment in time, George felt that the foundation he had begun to build was shattering around him before he'd even had the chance.

"What did you expect?" said George, in a horribly biting voice "Skipping in fields of flowers? Rainbows, leprechauns, and all of that shit? We're not children anymore, Lee. This is a job."

"You see, this is exactly what I meant," Lee whispered, obviously trying to get George to keep his voice down "I know you're in a bad state-

"You don't know anything about what 'state' I'm in!" George's voice rose dangerously. Lee's eyes widened. Lee Jordan was clearly not used to an angry George Weasley; after all, during the time Lee had known George, when was he _really_ angry?

"Hey look, all I was saying was that I'm not the proper person that should help you through this." Lee insisted. But then he froze, realising he'd said something wrong. George's eyes narrowed. The spiteful expression that George bore on his face was an entirely unfamiliar one. George had the kind of face which laughter looked commonplace upon, and this expression looked almost ugly and unnatural.

"Through what, exactly?" said George, in a slow voice. It was almost predatorial, the way in which George waited for Lee to say something which he could snap at.

"Well, you know what I'm talking about…" Lee looked anxious, like a rabbit in headlights. Rosmerta was being in no way discrete about listening to their conversation; she had been polishing the same glass for far too long now. George ignored this, concentrating on his current victim.

"No, as a matter of fact, I don't know." He retorted. Lee sighed, and put his face in his hands.

"_Fred_" said Lee, at last ", are you happy now?"

George paused, as if to let the rage build up. His ears turned crimson. Rosmerta stopped polishing the glass.

"Fine, you can fuck right off. Thanks for nothing." And with that, George stood up, letting the stool scrape with an unpleasant high pitched squeal against the floor. George slammed a galleon down on the table, with such force, that a sizeable amount of Lee's Butterbeer sloshed over the side of the pint glass. Without another word, George left. Lee gaped after him.

"Well, what's got _his_ wand in a knot?" said Rosmerta, incredulously.

George had not bothered to replace Lee. It wasn't that he couldn't find anybody, he was just too lazy. Therefore, he now ran a one man shop. Whatever George admitted to himself or anyone else, he was lonelier than ever. Even if he rarely spoke openly to Lee, having him around had been a comfort. George had felt like one friend was progress; something to be proud of. Now he'd driven Lee away, just like Ginny.

That small bubble of hope that he'd still had at the thought of Luna's letter was diminishing by the day.

With the departure of Lee, came the loss of customers. It seemed that many customers had simply come in at the sight of Lee. And in truth, Lee had brought that certain something to the shop that George lacked severely; his dreadlocks and colourful style were enough to attract some people in from the dreary autumnal weather. It wasn't that George was strapped for cash (the Diagon Alley profits made sure of that), it was merely testament to the fact that George was seen as a grumpy old man. And that was probably a correct assumption.

George was not completely back to square one. He visited the Burrow again, seeing only his mother, father, and Percy. Percy also visited twice in that month. Yet everything seemed dull again. His ambitions for making amends to Ginny had been bruised. However, somehow, George still badly wanted to meet with Ginny and Luna.

So on the morning in question, when George looked out the window to see snow, it did not make him feel exactly chipper. Luna had- oddly enough- asked to meet by the Shrieking Shack. The weather would not help George to be congenial, by any means. He donned a particularly thick jumper (one of Mrs Weasley's finest) and started what promised to be a very long, arduous morning. And indeed it was; yes, he'd had more customers than usual, on account of it being the Hogwarts visit, yet he had noticed a clear reduction in the amount of students entering the shop. Therefore, it was in a slightly subdued mood which George exited the shop that lunchtime. Locking the door with a relieved sigh and turning up his coat collar against the wintry air, George then began the walk to the Shrieking Shack.

**A/N: Okay, I'm a bad person. Not enough Luna, I know. But, obviously ^ more is coming up. And NOW is the time I'll tell you I'll be a bit slow this week due to exams. Don't hit me…but review please?**


	6. Finding a Common Ground

Chapter VI: Finding a Common Ground

When George entered the clearing, giving views of the Shrieking Shack, it is fair to say he was more concerned about the alarming rate in which his toes were becoming numb, rather than the disintegrating relationship between himself and his sister. George clutched his coat around him, shivering violently. He grimaced at the sight of the tauntingly innocent snowflakes, which had only begun to fall in the last ten minutes or so. Trust Luna to pick such a place in November.

However, the look which Ginny was giving him was frostier than snow could ever be. Realising George had arrived she crossed her arms resolutely, and narrowed her eyes at him. In stark contrast, Luna was sitting on the fence separating the clearing from the Shrieking Shack. Her smile was placid, and she nodded at George as he approached.

"C-could we go somewhere warmer?" George asked, stuttering.

"You have a wand, don't you? You can't be completely useless." said Ginny in a dry voice. Luna shook her head behind Ginny, and to George's surprise she actually tutted at Ginny.

"No, no. This really won't do." Luna muttered, more to herself than anything else. She hopped down from the fence, the bobble on her yellow woolly hat shaking, emphasising her eccentricity more than was needed. Both George and Ginny stared at her incredulously as Luna stood between both of them with a defiant expression on her face, contrasting starkly with her usual serene air.

"You aren't fighting about anything that matters are you?" She asked, hands on her hips in a way that was forcibly reminiscent of George's mother. Ginny looked furious.

"Anything that matters? Only the fact that George has become so selfish he won't even realise that _other_ people grieve too!" She yelled, her small hands balled themselves into fists.

George's face remained blank. He was rendered speechless. Ginny had single handedly made him feel so useless, so incredibly inept that George felt that if he stayed stood in that spot for the rest of his life, it wouldn't matter. Yet this was the horrible irony; he felt sick that he'd put so much pressure on his family by becoming a burden, but felt equally as nauseated at the prospect of doing anything about it.

"Do you have anything to say to that, George?" Luna turned to George, speaking so quietly, Ginny couldn't hear it. George's gaze turned to Luna and he took a deep breath, attempting to brace himself.

"I've tried Ginny, I've been home a lot more recently." George confessed in a low voice.

"And I bet you were the life and soul of the party!" She spat.

The feeling of being useless overwhelmed George again. Visiting the Burrow had been excruciating enough, what with all the memories which were attached to the place. George glanced at Luna again, seemingly for support. Standing there in the middle of this family conflict, Luna should have appeared out of place and uncomfortable. Yet as the air she exuded was so awkward, as if she was simply placed out of the blue in every situation by some foreign entity, she was simply at home in peculiar situations.

"You're being a little unfair, Ginny." Her small, quiet voice spoke up with surprising authority. Ginny's jaw set rigidly, angry at being outnumbered two-to-one.

"When did you become so friendly with each other, eh?" Ginny shot at them, looking at Luna in particular. It was almost as if Ginny was personally offended that she had been betrayed by her friend. The atmosphere grew colder still, even without the increasing velocity of the snowflakes. George and Ginny's red hair was now so dotted with white it was almost as if they had aged fifty years in the space of five minutes.

"George would have consulted anybody else, if he could have." Luna stated, smiling serenely.

"I'm sure!" Ginny retorted, giving George a derisive look.

"_Grief divided is made lighter_." Luna said so solemnly, it was absurd. George could have laughed, and Ginny's scowl softened a fraction.

"I have to go anyway. I did tell you I couldn't stay long, Luna" Ginny said, and now she had dropped the scathing tone. She avoided George's eye, but said in a low voice, barely discernible over the now howling wind ", I'll see you at Christmas, George."

And then Ginny's footsteps, making a crunching noise in the newly forming snow, began to die away, and all was left was silence between George and Luna.

"Thanks." George said flatly, which prompted a wide grin from Luna. The effect was that Luna's usually tranquil expression of happiness was replaced by wild ecstasy, making her look far younger than usual.

"You did really well!" She insisted. George briefly allowed a corner of his mouth to turn up in an acknowledgement of her words, but then turned to lean on the fence, facing the Shrieking Shack.

"Ginny was right about something though. Why are you so willing to help me?" George asked, not looking at Luna. Luna considered him for a moment, before leaning on the fence next to him. The difference in their height was almost comical.

"_Do unto others as you would have done unto you_" Luna said in a sing-song voice.

"So that's it, is it?" George asked, incredulously.

"I lost somebody who was near to a half of me as I could get. I would have liked somebody to have listened who was outside my situation." Luna confessed. What was odd was that there was no tone of sadness or melancholy in her words. Luna was merely stating a fact. And in return, George felt no stab of pain at the mention of losing a half.

"Who was that, if you don't mind me asking?" George's voice turned careful. It was strange that George was treating Luna like the 'ticking time bomb of grief' that others had treated him as.

"My mother, when I was nine."

"Oh, I'm sorry." George said, shocked. Luna giggled softly, and George raised his eyebrow, confused.

"You don't need to be, it was a while ago" She smiled at him ", but if you want to move on, you will. Your brother wouldn't have wanted you to do nothing now, would he?"

George grimaced, and began to feel a lump in his throat, and he shivered more violently than ever. George knew that Fred, as the twin who initiated most of their antics, relied on George to carry it through and keep them grounded. They had been part of a well oiled machine, which worked without a hitch. But now Fred could not be grounded, as he had drifted to somewhere George could not reach. Would this mean that machine would now have to halt?

George had not replied, but Luna only smiled into the distance. She placed her hand wearing a purple mitten on George's arm briefly, before quickly removing it.

"You'll be fine." She said. She seemed totally certain. George wondered for a moment how she could be so sure, but decided to leave it.

"We'll see. Anyway, thanks a lot."

George looked down to his right at Luna and smiled appreciatively. However, just then, a strong gust of wind seemed to shake George to his very core, and he began to cough uncontrollably.

"You should go back to work." Luna said, smiling at him.

"I suppose you're right," George sighed, resigned to the fact that he'd have to spend the afternoon serving the rest of the giggling and screaming Hogwarts students. On the bright side, at least he'd be warm "See you, Luna."

George turned to leave, and for one moment, felt childish pleasure at hearing the sound of the crunching snow beneath his feet.

"George!" Luna called behind him, over the sounds of the wind which was louder than ever. George turned around, somewhat surprised.

"Yeah?"

"Make sure you don't get too cold, you'll get Frigidulus disease!" She shouted, anxiously.

"What!" George yelled back, unsure of whether what he'd heard was right.

"Frigidulous!" She almost screamed "It makes you chatter your teeth forever, and you will only be able to speak in tongues!"

Speaking to Luna Lovegood had its perks.

That night, George dreamt of Fred.

It wasn't snowing at the Shrieking Shack, it was, in fact, a balmy evening. The sky was beginning to turn a soft shade of red, posing as a picturesque background to the rickety old hut. George was sat on the tree stump that he had seen Luna sitting on the first time he had seen her there, and he was wearing her yellow woollen hat. It did not occur to George that this might be remotely strange at all. There were faint sounds of birds, which sounded somewhat artificial; as if they were being played on the Wizarding Wireless Network that had been the soundtrack to George's childhood.

Suddenly, George spied something which was stranger still in the distance. He couldn't be sure, but it seemed that the front door of the Shrieking Shack was being pushed open. The person pushing it must have been either extremely weak, or very cautious, as the speed in which it was being pushed was excruciatingly slow.

It opened at an odd angle, and finally swung to the side. George saw his mirror image step out from the dingy darkness of the hut. The boy was slightly taller than George, however, it was only distinguishable to the well educated mind on the matter. His face split in a grin, and he ran over to George, leaping over the slight bumps in the field. Yet Fred Weasley stopped a few meters before the fence, though George himself stood up carefully from the tree stump, barely allowing himself to believe it.

"Has much changed while I've been away?" His doppelganger asked jovially, though George had noticed that the smile did not fully reach his eyes; most irregular for Fred.

"Percy's less of a git." George replied. He sensed that they'd already begun to avoid a great topic, one which prevented an honest discussion. George had never felt this before. Meanwhile, the birds in the background began to increase in volume.

"Is he the one with a fang earring now? Bloody hell." Fred laughed. George grinned sheepishly.

"How is it…you know…over there?" George asked tentatively. Fred smiled that knowing, secretive smile George knew so well; the one which preceded mischief and mayhem. Though this time, the difference was, was that George was not in on the joke.

"I'll _never_ tell, Georgie! Wouldn't ruin the surprise for you, would I?" Fred tapped his nose. George felt a small twinge of irritation, but he shook it off.

Something small then came to George's head. Fred's image shimmered oddly, as if he were only a reflection in water. His colour was also perturbing; he was lighter than was normal, as if he was merely a coloured ghost. Perhaps that was actually close to the truth. Fred didn't seem a black and white kind of person, even if he was dead.

"Okay, fair enough," George acceded, smiling faintly "seen anyone we know?"

"It's not like we're sitting in a corner of the Three Broomsticks throwing down tankards of Butterbeer, is it?" Fred said wryly. He hadn't lost his sense of humour, one thing was apparent. George sniggered. Fred's face turned abruptly grave and serious before George had the chance to stop laughing.

"There's one thing I wanted to say to you, George. It took a lot for me to get here, so I should say it before I have to go."

"You have to go? How come you _have_ to-

"_George_! Just listen to me for one second!" Fred said, something desperate in his voice was discernible "You can't just do nothing for the rest of your life, do you understand me?"

"What?" George gaped, dumbstruck.

"_Do you understand me?_" Fred hissed at him. While Fred spoke, the birdsong increased in volume until it completely surrounded them.

"Yes, of course." George said, shocked. He glanced into the woods, then to the field beyond the shack, frantically searching for the source of the birdsong.

"And one more thing, George." said Fred, and it was only then when George realised how dishevelled Fred appeared, dressed in a holey discoloured t shirt and ripped jeans, similar to what he'd been wearing on the night of his death.

"Yeah?"

"Don't leave me behind."

And George sat up, sweat drenching his face, breathing heavily and quickly. Birds chirped happily and sweetly from the only window, but the atmosphere of the room was only cold and unfriendly. Though even with this potent reminder of the dream, the only element of the dream which remained in George's memory was Fred's last sentence, which echoed horribly around in his head.

**This chapter isn't too weird, is it? I hope you liked it anyway, I can carry on writing a bit faster now because I've finished my exams, yay! Please review and let me know what you think!**


	7. A Well Deserved Break

Chapter VII: A Well Deserved Break

Christmas was approaching, and what had been but a mere powdering of snow in Hogsmeade had now turned into a thick blanket of snow. George had discovered, to his dismay that the building did not cope well in cold weather. The wind rattled the windows almost as vigorously as the ghoul clanked around in the Burrow. The place was now more bleak and lonely than ever, and George was found it increasingly difficult to get used to, despite his usual preference to see as little of his friends and family.

The combination of this, and oddly enough, his conversation with Luna, made him less inclined to spend Christmas, as he had originally planned, alone. Therefore, as a result of this, he decided to take a break from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for the festive season, not only in Hogsmeade, but in Diagon Alley as well. George had sent an owl to his mother, receiving an enthusiastic response, though he couldn't help but notice some of the ink was curiously blotched, as if the writer had been overcome with emotion. Or had some sort of cold.

George's last day at the shop before he was to go to the Burrow was a quiet one, as less than five people came into shop in all, and for that he was thankful. Yet there was one curious customer in particular who caught his attention, to say the least. It was a witch who strode into the shop with purpose and confidence, and illuminated the place with her brisk and formal attitude. She appeared to be a good few years older than George, as iron grey streaks were beginning to appear in her copper brown hair. The woman began to inspect the shelves, stroking her finger along the surfaces and examining the dust on her fingers.

George, bemused enough by now, decided to confront her. He edged out from behind the counter.

"Excuse me, ma'am, can I help you?" He asked, and he strongly suspected his ears had turned crimson when her steely gaze met his. She reminded him of a slightly younger, rather more frightening Professor McGonagall, if that was indeed possible.

"George Weasley, isn't it?" She said. Her voice was strict and pompous. George privately wondered to himself if she was actually related to his former head of house.

"Yes, that's me." He affirmed. She allowed a corner of her mouth to turn in a slight smile.

"Fine business you have here, if I may be so bold."

"Thank you." George said, curtly, however, he was at least, sceptical of her intentions.

"If I may be bolder still, I have a proposition for you." She announced, and a smug smile suddenly appeared on her face. George crossed his arms defensively and frowned. He was not about to prompt her into saying what she was about to say, if what he thought was correct. She unclipped the shiny black handbag she carried, rummaged inside it, and pulled out a torn piece of parchment.

"I think _this_ is the sort of offer we could give you for the franchise," She eyed George carefully as she handed over the piece of parchment to him "That is, if you are willing to accept."

George looked down at the figure on the piece of parchment and felt his throat constrict. That was _a lot_ of zeroes. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the figure.

"I'll give you time to think, shall I?" She asked, somewhat amused. George found that he could not answer. He was quite simply speechless.

"My address is on the back of the parchment." She laughed an odd, wooden laugh.

While George continued to have his eyes glued to the number, he heard the sound her heels on the floor and of the door shutting quietly.

All George could do was fold the piece of parchment and stow it away deep inside one of his pockets, just as he stowed away the woman's proposition to the very back of his mind. Yet for some reason, as he did this, the dream he had had about Fred seemed to be stored in the very same place.

A few days later, George could be found playing a game of chess in the living room of the Burrow with an overly-enthusiastic Ron, with Hermione and Harry as the audience, occasionally making the odd humorous remark. George's expression compared to Ron's was as vastly different as the variation between the black chess pieces and the white.

"CHECK-BLOODY-MATE, GEORGE!" Ron finally yelled, after a tense gridlock. His outburst was so loud that Hermione's aged cat, Crookshanks, yowled from her lap.

"Alright. You win." George sighed, scratching his head, while Harry and Hermione laughed.

"That's all?" Ron said, mouth agape.

"What do you want, a medal?"

"Well, kind of. I've never beaten _you_ at chess before!" Ron was still dumbstruck from his win.

The black pieces (George's side) looked reproachfully up at him. The knight, a particularly pigheaded piece shook his fist at George.

"Lions led by donkeys!" He roared in his tinny voice.

"Shut it." George muttered. Ron's face now assembled itself into a smug, but at a look from Hermione, he managed to control his obvious self-satisfaction, just about. Instead, he stretched, opening his mouth in an extremely unattractive yawn.

"Ginny should be home tomorrow!" He managed to announce through his yawn. Out of the corner of his eye, George saw Harry's smile widen, and he felt an uncontrollable rush of revulsion.

"I've missed Ginny, I can't wait!" said Hermione happily. George hummed in fake enthusiasm. Nobody picked up on this, though Hermione may have raised an eyebrow, George didn't know or care.

George had edged uneasily back into family life, though had somehow managed to play along. What made it all the more difficult was that the Burrow was full to the brim of people determined to make this Christmas a merry one, even though some who _should_ have been present were not. George resented this completely, and he felt totally isolated in this respect. Ginny coming home would only exacerbate this feeling.

The next minute, Arthur Weasley walked into the room with a furrowed brow, a rolled up copy of the _Prophet_ in his hand, and his characteristically worn out expression, which always told of a bad day.

"Busy day, dad?" grunted Ron, not looking up. He had now engaged in another game of chess with Harry, which he tended to enjoy as those games were less strenuous. Ron nearly always won.

"Oh, that at the very least!" moaned their father, slumping down on his usual armchair.

"What happened?" asked Harry politely.

His father then proceeded to mumble something in which the words 'magic carpet' and 'toy shop' could only be discerned, but then buried himself behind his newspaper.

Harry and Ron continued to play, but at the same time that Harry uttered a yell of victory after his bishop 'slayed' Ron's rook, Mr. Weasley cried out.

"Oh yes, I forgot!"

"Forgot what?" snapped Ron impatiently, turning away from the game.

"Luna Lovegood will be staying with us." He announced hastily, and then held the newspaper over his face. George now had his curiosity piqued. Why was it that Luna would not be spending the holidays at home, instead leaving her father at her home alone? It was odd enough that at the end of last summer she had chosen to spend her last few weeks of holiday away from home, though George had not considered this at the time. When Harry came to the Burrow during the school holidays, he had little to miss at home, though for Luna, this did not appear to be the case.

"How come she won't be in her own home? Is old Xeno Lovegood spending Christmas alone?" George decided to ask. His father had been an acquaintance of Luna's father, and he would surely also enquire the same as George would.

"Luna just wants to spend the holidays with a friend. Nothing more." stated Mr Weasley in reply, in a way which made George understand that he was to ask no more on the subject. Though George saw concerned looks pass between Ron, Hermione and Harry. They were hiding something, as usual, and just as typically, George knew he would not be able to gauge any information from them. Why he was so curious, however, he did not know.

That night, George did not sleep well. It had been a very long time since George had slept in his old room. His mother had given him a sumptuous meal of roast beef, though when he entered the room, he felt himself become strangely empty. The only thing he could compare the feeling to was the feeling of being close to a dementor, though perhaps that was too melodramatic. Perhaps not. The bed which remained ever neat, tidy, and above all, cold, next to the bed George had put his muggle-style rucksack on, embodied this feeling of emptiness. Fred had never been one for tidiness and severity, preferring commotion mingled with excitement. In fact, this was evidenced in itself by the odd scent which lingered in the bedroom, somewhere between burning meat and the rancid stench of Bubotuber pus. The remnants of some experiment which would never exit the room.

So when George entered the kitchen that morning, pale and puffy eyed, the arrival of his sister and Luna Lovegood was the last thing on his mind. Yet there they were, sitting at the old wooden table, Ginny eating bacon and eggs eagerly, and Luna making some strange sort of sandwich; a full English breakfast with cornflakes on top, sandwiched between two slices of toast.

"Morning George!" called his mother from in front of the stove. Seeing him, she heaped more bacon and sausages on the already heavily tasked frying pan.

"Hello." He said, suddenly nervous for some inexplicable reason. He pulled up a chair, wincing at the sound the chair made as it screeched on the floor. Ginny's face was stony, but Luna, her mouth full of that weird mixture of cornflakes, bacon, eggs, and toast, attempted to smile.

"Good term?" George said amiably, to neither of them in particular.

"Yes, thank you." Ginny said in a clipped tone. George then had a plate placed in front of him, which was so full that it was hardly believable that the whole plate could have held that amount of food. His mother sat opposite him with her own plate.

"Where is everyone else?" George asked "Aren't they eating too?"

"They've already eaten. I would have woken you up earlier, George, but you looked so tired yesterday." She said, the increasingly familiar expression of panicked concern present on her lined face. George felt his stomach squirm again with guilt. George glanced down at his 'trough' of food, feeling little inclination to eat it, but one glance at his mother's face gave him no choice. George began to pick at a hash brown, which, if he were in any other mood, would have greatly increased his appetite.

"George!" said Luna suddenly, making his mother jump a little in surprise. George glanced up at her, and she looked just as, if not more concerned than his mother had.

"Yeah?" George said, chewing on the hash brown.

"You've lost your appetite. I just _knew_ you had it!" Luna cried. Ginny frowned, looking at George as if to ask what if he knew anything about what she had said.

"Had what?"

"Frigidulous disease, of course!"

While the rest of the table gazed at Luna incredulously, with the exception of Ginny, who clapped her hand over her mouth to stop her giggles, the door opened to reveal Harry, looking unusually nervous.

"Would you come for a walk with me, Ginny?" He said hesitantly, hardly noticing the other occupants of the room. George's mood instantly blackened, though his mother pursed her lips, trying to hide how pleased she was. Luna still hadn't recovered from her diagnosis, and has reverted to biting her nails in her anxiety, her large eyes on George.

"Yes, let's go." replied Ginny unblushingly. With some haste, they left the house, and Ginny closed the door with a loud slam.

After a few more uncomfortable minutes of eating in silence, Mrs Weasley stood up, and with a flick of her wand, cleaned her plate.

"I better go and set the bed up in Ginny's room for you, Luna." She said, and left the room. But George knew better; the window from Ginny's room had a very good view of the garden, which his mother, no doubt, wished to take advantage of. Ginny and Harry's so-called 'privacy', therefore, would be limited, as always. This vindictive thought filled him with pleasure, yet he only replied in grunts to Luna's lectures on how best to treat Frigidulous disease

Later on that day, George was asked to rid the back garden of gnomes by his mother. It was, as he saw it, a highly unnecessary task, as the garden was buried under so much snow, that any gnome which ventured out into it would perhaps be frozen. However, Mrs Weasley saw none of this logic, and George did not have it in him to protest, so he prepared to go outside, wearing as many layers of clothing as was humanly possible, and then some. Though as he pulled on a pair of wellington boots (who they belonged to, he did not know, as the area around the back door looked like a reject heap at a wellington boots factory), he heard a small voice behind him.

"Could I come outside with you?" Luna asked tentatively. George saw that she already had her coat and yellow hat on.

"Umm…Okay." He mumbled, and opened the door for her to walk through.

George appeared to be largely right on the assumption that no gnome would dare to place one little knobbly toe outside their homes, though there were a few stragglers that could be seen, arms huddled around their tiny little bodies. Luna squealed with delight, and George winced, he didn't think that a noise of such volume could have issued from her.

"I _love _the Gernumblies!" She laughed, and skipped over to the nearest one, crouching down and it looked up at her with some apprehension.

"Well, you're alone in that." George grumbled, watching as the gnome in question ran off to hide behind an upturned wheelbarrow.

"No, my dad…" She began to say, but then her face turned blank, and she didn't continue. Instead, she turned her head to stare at another gnome, who was more daring still as he had started to edge towards Luna's hand. George raised his eyebrows, surprised at Luna's sudden silence.

"Your dad what?" He asked, all thoughts of banishing the remaining gnomes gone from his head.

"Nothing. He just liked them." She said shortly, casting him a stern look, as if she were telling him off for asking.

George wondered for a brief moment if he had just stumbled upon the topic which his father had been so keen to avoid and had prompted Harry, Ron and Hermione to share that secretive look. What was wrong with Xenophilius Lovegood, the man who had seemed so in tune with Luna's eccentric world at Bill's wedding?

"Is…everything okay?" George enquired, looking at Luna carefully, gauging her reaction. What he did not expect, was to see her look back at him, her wide eyes filled with tears. She straightened up from her crouch to face him.

"Would you come with me tomorrow, to see if he's okay? I wouldn't ask, but I don't think I can go alone." She said tearfully. George was stunned; this girl, who he had previously thought was so calm and collected, had been sitting on something which now he saw had been torturing her. George did not think he would ever see Luna Lovegood of all people _crying_. He could not think of what to say, so he said the first words which came to mind.

"Why me?" He spluttered.

"The only other person I could ask was Ginny, and…"

"She's too happy." George finished for her. Luna beamed, which looked bizarre on a face which looked so close to tears.

"I knew you'd understand."

And without any more words, Luna ran towards George and hugged him around the middle. George was so taken aback, that for a few seconds, he just stood there with his arms dumbly at his sides. After the initial shock, he put his arms around Luna, and awkwardly patted her on the back, unsure of what to do or say. At least he could pay off his debt to her this way. The two of them stood in that position for such a time, that George forgot the gnomes, the cold, and at least in some part, his overbearing grief.

**A/N: Sup, readers! Yay, more Luna! But she's not happy…But that's for the next chapter. Sorry for the typos again, they are the bane of my life. I'll fix them…soon. At some point. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, please please please pleaaaaaaase review. And thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far!**


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